I have become more content over the years with my middle-classiness. I embrace minimalism. I understand there is such a thing as poor wine. Chatting over dinner is a good thing. Armed only with a courgette and a sensible store-cupboard I can feed people. I am beginning to see the possibilities of tofu. It's sandals or socks but not both.
Yet for all my fifty-six years up to this point I have never, not even once, slept a night in a caravan. Today, barring accidents, that virginity is to be popped. It will be a static one with quite a few modern conveniences but it will be a caravan.
So ashamed. I'm going to end up in Iceland I can feel it. No, not the one with volcanoes; the one with freezers full of chicken nuggets.
Pray for me brothers and sisters. I need to be able to look Radio 4 in the face on Monday.
1 comment:
Be careful, Iceland is just the start of the slippery slope to Gregg's and, dare I say it, McDonalds
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